


Be A Good Boy

by Snortinglaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2000s, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bisexual Harry Potter, Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Good Boy Kink, Het, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Post-War, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Teasing, This is Not a Love Fic, Wet Dream, sub Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snortinglaughter/pseuds/Snortinglaughter
Summary: Harry Potter is single, sexually frustrated and absolutely 100%donewith being famous. After months of only leaving his flat to go to work, he decides it's time for a well deserved night out to a muggle club away from Wizards and Witches. Never had he thought he would have a close encounter with no other than Pansy Parkinson... and even less how close that encounter would be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs featured:
> 
> [Lola's Theme - Shapeshifters.](https://youtu.be/fVL1NxraxWw)
> 
> [I'm Still In Love - Sean Paul ft. Sasha.](https://youtu.be/AQ4TW5Z8eu0)

Harry had thought he'd be safe in a muggle club. Everytime he had tried to go to a wizarding establishment, he would find himself cornered by excessively flirty men and women. He had even found his drink bubbling suspiciously on more than a couple occasions, only to discover it’d been tampered via love potion.

 

Lifesaver that she was, Hermione recommended an underground club in central London, which she and Ron had frequented when they, too, wanted to escape from the public eye. So Harry decided to give it a try and go on a Wednesday, hoping to find it half-empty.

 

After carelessly selecting his clothes—a white t-shirt, green jacket, jeans and sneakers—he _Apparated_  to Charing Cross Road and, within minutes, found the building with the yellow double door. Inside, there was a bored-looking lady behind a counter, who only gave Harry a once-over, nodded to the entrance at her right and continued skimming through her mag, ignoring Harry’s polite smile. He walked past her and climbed down the staircase, feeling the muffled music reverberating on the walls as it got louder. He immediately recognized 'Lola's Theme' and nearly rolled his eyes; Zacharias Smith—his current Auror partner—had been whistling it nonstop for the last fortnight.

 

Harry wouldn't call the place luxurious, with its intimate basement vibe, dark blue velvet walls, and pink and purple laser lights illuminating the dance floor, but it felt swanky anyway. He walked to the bar and ordered an old fashioned, discreetly casting a wandless _Specialis Revelio_ on the drink—better safe than sorry. Satisfied with the clean result, he set to look around the club.

 

There were couples in dark corners and groups of friends sitting on curved booth seats. Harry was pleased when he didn't recognize any of those faces.

 

He sipped at his drink and leaned on the bar. There was a good looking lass on the other side who was eyeing him with interest. Harry gave her a small, charming smile and continued nursing his drink—no need to seem desperate.

 

The current song slowly faded and when the next one started—Harry thought it sounded like reggae—the few people that were on the dance floor shouted their approval.

 

_Though you make me holler, though you make me sweat, I can't get your tenderness!_

 

Harry hadn’t heard it before, and he was really curious to see how people danced to it, so he looked over to the dance floor.

 

For a fraction of a second he thought he saw a familiar face floating among the small crowd, but it couldn’t be. She was dancing alone, her back to Harry, with hair so long it was almost to her waist, and those amazing legs… Harry’s trained eye was able to spot the clever glamour that hid a wand holster on her right thigh, making it invisible to the muggles. She turned around, her eyes closed and head tilted back.

 

It was no other than Pansy Parkinson.

 

Harry quickly looked around the club again to make sure there wasn't a poncey blond head near—there was one by the loo, but wasn’t quite the right shade of blond.

 

Before leaving his flat, Harry had decided he would _Apparate_  home on the spot as soon as he found himself in the presence of another Witch or Wizard, but in this moment he was somewhat entranced by the sight of Parkinson. Of all people, he had never thought he’d bump into her in a muggle club, dancing to muggle music. Harry noticed the various sets of eyes staring at her, yet either she didn't notice or she was doing it on purpose.

 

After watching her movements, he was _sure_ she was doing it on purpose... swaying her hips in her ridiculously short dress to the loud beat of the music, enjoying all the attention.

 

He huffed and gulped the rest of his drink. Sulking, he ordered another and spent the next few minutes by the bar, watching Parkinson. That cow! How dare she present herself to the exact same place Harry had decided to go in his first night out after nearly a year.

 

A bloke approached her and said something in her ear. _Ha!_ Poor fool, he didn't know what he was getting himself into. Harry smirked, expecting her to make a nasty remark about his baggy denims and tell him to fuck off.

 

But Parkinson smiled and put her arms around the bloke’s neck. Harry frowned, surprised to not see a sneer on her face as she danced. The bloke spun her around and she was suddenly facing Harry.

 

Her smile faltered, Harry saw recognition on her face and a fraction of a second later, she rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. Harry’s jaw nearly dropped. How _dare_ she. She should be ashamed of herself, after trying to hand Harry over to Voldemort to save her skinny arse. Actually, she should be apologizing to Harry, or perhaps thanking him for saving her and her favorite ferret’s lives. That's the least Harry deserved, he thought.

 

He mentally slapped himself. He hadn't come to sulk and complain, he came to have a good time and maybe pull if he got a bit lucky. He remembered the lass from the other side of the bar and spotted her a few seats closer. When he caught her eye, he gave her his most charming smile, and by the way she smiled back and bit her lip, Harry _knew_  he would get lucky.

 

“A lager and a daiquiri,” someone said by Harry’s side, and he turned to look. It was Baggy-Denims, drumming his fingers on the bar and whistling cheerily.

 

Harry was under the impression that Parkinson would have better taste than that. She had dated Malfoy after all, and despite his animosity with the git, Harry couldn't deny he was very much attractive. He looked back at the dance floor and noticed Parkinson sitting on a high table nearby, with her crossed legs resting on a stool in front of her, and _another_ bloke—whose hair looked like noodles—trying to get her attention. Harry snorted and, before he knew what he was doing, nudged Baggy-Denims on the ribs.

 

“Got a bit of competition there, mate.”

 

Baggy-Denims frowned at him, turned around and visibly sagged. He muttered something under his breath and when the bartender gave him his drinks, took them and walked back to Parkinson.

 

Harry spun on his chair and proceeded to watch how she got herself out of what was most probably going to be an embarrassing situation.

 

Baggy-Denims, surprisingly, handed her the lager—Parkinson hid a snicker behind the rim of her bottle as he sipped from his daiquiri. He then put a hand on her knee, and gave Noodle-Hair a contemptuous look, but was spectacularly ignored. Noodle-Hair leaned closer to Parkinson and whispered something in her ear.

 

Apparently, Baggy-Denims was not a quitter, he pushed Noodle-Hair away and shouted something unpleasant enough for them to start arguing. Parkinson seemed amused only for a few seconds before she stifled a yawn.

 

A new song started. Parkinson, excited, stood up and danced away without a word, leaving them on the spot. Now that was just plain fucking rude, someone ought to call her out on her shit.

 

Harry watched the movements of her hips in her tight black dress, showing off the curves that school robes had done a fabulous job of hiding, until a distractingly sensuous voice spoke by his side.

 

“Expecting someone?” It was the woman from the other side of the bar. Harry smirked and licked his lips as she inched closer to him. She introduced herself as Marina.

 

However, despite her perfect lips and enticing touches, her narration of the many clubs she’d been in and her wardrobe selection process didn’t manage to keep his interest. Harry was too polite to snub her, so he fell into a routine of nodding, gulping his drinks down and trying to pay attention while he, unable to stop himself, watched Parkinson from the corner of his eye.

 

He still couldn't believe his luck. Pansy fucking Parkinson, in the exact same muggle club on a Wednesday night… it was very suspicious. Too suspicious, actually. Harry was fully staring at her now, nearly forgetting about the chit-chatting woman next to him. Parkinson kept dancing, her hands raised and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. What if it was all a plot? What if he had been followed here and Parkinson was waiting for him to get sloshed and do something stupid? Maybe snap a picture and send it to _The Prophet_?

 

Unacceptable.

 

“–and I was going to wear an orange bodycon, but my friend Ellie said–”

 

“Excuse me for a moment, Melina,” Harry interrupted.

 

“It's Marina,” she corrected, but he was already halfway to the dance floor. He didn't stop to think about manners, and he didn't care about pulling anymore. The dancing bodies accidentally bumped into him, but he only had one thing in mind: get to Parkinson.

 

She had her back to him, the sheen of sweat on her shoulders glistening under the lights. He hadn’t had that much to drink, but the edges of his vision blurred ever so slightly, somehow enhancing the glow of Parkinson’s skin. She turned around, her eyes still closed. As much as Harry tried, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering down to her deep, heart-shaped cleavage.

 

“Fuck off, Potter,” she shouted over the loud music, snapping him out of his reverie. She didn't bother waiting for a response and simply walked away. For some otherworldly reason, Harry followed.

 

“What are you doing here, Parkinson?” he demanded.

 

She plainly ignored him and entered the ladies’. How _fucking_ dare she. Harry was utterly gobsmacked. He knew she was a feisty one, but never had he thought she would literally not give a flying fuck. No, it was obvious she wasn't here to catch him doing something embarrassing, but that only increased his curiosity. Now he wanted– _needed_ to know what Parkinson was up to.

 

Quicker than he expected, she exited the ladies’. Her eyes showed the slightest hint of surprise at the sight of Harry, still there waiting for her.

 

“A muggle club?” he said scornfully. “Got bored of Wizarding cocks, have you?”

 

She gave him a quick murderous look before her dark red lips formed a relaxed smirk. “I could ask you the same thing, Potter, but I guess the rumours are true, about you being bored of the Weasley’s fanny. Or was it the opposite? Did she dump you for someone more exciting in bed?”

 

Harry felt surprisingly stung. Not that he still felt for Ginny, but because—even though it hurt his ego to admit—that had been one of the reasons why their relationship ended.

 

“You've always been a little bitch, Parkinson,” he said, trying to add as much spite to his voice as he could manage.

 

“And you've always been an attention whore, Golden Boy,” she responded, a hand on her waist and her smirk never faltering.

 

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. Attention was the least he ever wanted, hence his undercover little tour through the muggle nightlife to remain in anonymity. Parkinson narrowed her eyes, as if she could have a clear look into his thoughts by doing so. Before he could call her a crazy fucking cow and stalk out of the place, she took a step forward and put her free palm on Harry’s stomach, his muscles tensed but he didn't move otherwise. Parkinson slid her hand upwards to his chest and spoke, every other sound seemed to have muted around them and Harry’s gaze fell on her lips.

 

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me all night, Potter? Are you looking for someone to give you all the attention you crave? Or maybe someone to tell you what a good boy you are?” Harry licked his lips absentmindedly. “Hmmm. Who would've thought the Saviour was such a kinky little sub.”

 

His eyes widened involuntarily. There was no way she could have known about the fantasies he hadn’t dared reveal to any of the few sexual partners he’d had. She only wanted to fluster Harry, to rile him up, he knew that. Still, the teasing look in her eyes and the heat of her palm on his chest caused a rush of adrenaline to course through his body. His heart hammered against his ribcage as she leaned next to his ear, her almond and jasmine scent filling his nostrils.

 

“Would you like that, Potter? Would you like to be a good boy for me?”

 

All his blood rushed straight to his crotch. Parkinson grasped at his jacked and pulled him closer, rolling her hips against his rapidly swelling cock. His hands automatically took her by the waist, and he had to bite his lips to stop the moan that was caught up in his throat. It was wrong, it was so very wrong. This was Pansy Parkinson, the girl that was popular for all the wrong reasons, the one that tormented others just for the mere fun of being petty, and was probably doing so in this exact moment… and Harry wanted to fuck her, wanted to fuck that smug look and outraging smirk off her face.

 

His breath hitched and, if he hadn’t been so busy being shocked by his realization, he would've noticed the way her gaze roamed up and down his body, desire clear in her eyes despite her amused smile. He stalked off to the loos, leaving her there without looking back. He found an empty stall and _Apparated_ away, his living room coming to focus once he opened his eyes.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing hard. He squeezed his hard cock over his jeans to soothe the ache after having gone through the unpleasant tightness of Apparition.

 

Harry huffed, annoyed. What he had intended to be a long, fun night ended up being a very short, befuddling experience. He swiftly took his jacket and t-shirt off and discarded them on the floor as he walked to the restroom.

 

He blamed his randy thoughts to the few drinks he’d had, surely they had been the cause. He extracted a Sobering potion from his cabinet and gulped it down. The drunken, blurry eyesight immediately receded, but to his mortification, his cock was still very much rock hard. Harry groaned, narked at his brain’s incapacity to control his bits. He left his wand and eyeglasses on the sink and rid himself of the remaining clothes to enter the shower, decidedly opening the ‘cold’ tap and gasping at the almost freezing water on his hot skin. After a few minutes of concentrating on the details of their last Auror investigation, his erection finally started waning.

 

Once in his bedroom, with pants and joggers on, Harry plopped in his bed and pulled the covers to his chin. His eyes soon felt heavier and heavier, darkness swirled around him until, thankfully, he finally fell asleep.

 

Harry opened his eyes to a dimly lit room. He looked down at himself and realized he was sitting on a chair, completely naked, his wrists tied to the armrests. He looked around and saw a figure in the corner to his right, hidden by the shadows.

 

“Who's there?” His voice came out as barely more than a whisper. He swallowed and jutted his chin out, trying to seem more confident than he actually felt. “If you don't release me right this fucking second–”

 

“Hush,” a smooth, feminine voice said, resonating all around him, quiet but commanding at the same time.

 

The figure started walking towards him, the soft lights illuminated her. First her tanned legs, then her torso and face; it was the woman he had meet at the bar. She smiled sweetly and tucked her hair behind her ear.

 

“I was going to wear an orange bodycon,” she said, and Harry frowned. It wasn’t the same voice he’d heard at first, and besides what the fuck did he care about her clothes? She’d be better off without them, as far as he was concerned.

 

“You've always been an attention whore, Golden Boy.” The smooth voice was back, whispering to his left. He could feel her warm breath ghosting over his ear, and a shiver ran down his spine.

 

The woman from the bar walked closer, but her figure morphed with each step. Her skin turned lighter and her hair raven black, the corner of her dark red lips lifted with a wicked smirk. Harry’s breathing was ragged by the time Parkinson stood right in front of him. She ran a hand through his hair and tipped his head back. Looking deep into his eyes, she bent down, and gave a slow lick from his chin to his lips.

 

_“Would you like to be a good boy for me?”_

 

Harry's eyes snapped open. He had thrown the covers off during his sleep, but his whole body felt hot nonetheless. There was no point in trying to resist it any longer. Desperately, he tugged his joggers and pants down and took his cock in hand. Beads of precome leaked down his shaft, and he spread them over the tip with his thumb, running his free hand over his chest, just like Parkinson had. Images of what could've happened at the club came into mind as he began stroking his cock: leading Parkinson to a dark corner or a stall in the loo, pushing her against the wall and pulling her dress up, lifting her so her legs would wrap around his waist, fucking her hard and rough…

 

 _“Ah, fuck.”_ Harry bucked his hips, fucking into his tight fist and imagining how it’d feel inside Parkinson’s cunt, inside her mouth. He moaned and licked his lips as he imagined himself on his knees, sucking on Parkinson’s clit, revelling in her taste and feeling her wetness trickle down his chin as she murmured what a good boy he was.

 

 _“Fuck, yes. P-Parkinson,”_ he gasped, reaching his orgasm with one more stroke, with one last image of Parkinson’s lips. Ropes of come splattered against his taut abdomen, and tiny stars sparkled against his eyelids as he softly squeezed his cock, drawing out the blissfulness of his climax.

 

Harry inhaled and exhaled until his heartbeat went back to normal. He fetched his wand and cast a cleaning charm over himself, all the while feeling something that nudged at his conscience; not quite like relief, not quite like repentance.

 

He threw his arm over his eyes, feeling ridiculous for letting Parkinson’s words affect him so much. After tossing and turning in bed, he made the decision of never going back to that muggle club.

 

As he drifted off to sleep, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his head: _“Would you like that, Potter? Would you like to be a good boy for me?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Rachel (@/restlessandordinary on Tumblr) and to Phia (@/unicornsandphoenix) for screaming your support at me and for correcting all the mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Here you go, love. This one’s on the house,” said the bartender, smiling cheekily as he slid a lager towards Pansy.

 

“Ta, babe.” She took it and winked at him as she sipped.

 

It had been almost two months since she had started coming to this club, always on Wednesday, the less crowded day. She couldn't give a fuck about what Blaise and Draco thought, she liked this place, away from judgements and sometimes even poisoning attempts. Here, she was unknown to muggles, none of them looking down on her like every other Wizard and Witch did. The fact that she surrounded herself with mostly non-magical people didn’t deter her mistrustful nature, she still carried her wand—under a glamour charm—wherever she went but here, Pansy was free. That was until a week ago, when Harry Beastly Potter had showed up out of nowhere.

 

 _Fuck my luck,_ she had thought.

 

Pansy had tried not to spare him a look, hoping he would ignore her too and stay away, but Potter wouldn't stop staring at her, the fucking little bugger. Not that she wasn't used to attracting a couple of glances, but it was Potter.

 

_Potter._

 

After the end of the war, she didn't know how to explain the sentiment toward him. She had been careful not to cross paths with him and his git-ish friends. It had been quite easy. But now, she couldn’t help snickering at the memory of Potter’s pitiful attempt at spitefulness. Their little word exchange had been fun—at least for Pansy—but the way his breath had stuttered at her words, his scent, the feeling of his cock going hard against her hip bone... she’d be lying if she said she hadn't felt heat pooling low in her belly. Then Potter was suddenly gone and Pansy, proud of herself for effectively riling him up, went on about her night. She was almost certain she wouldn't see him again… she hoped so.

 

She should’ve known better, for tonight less than an hour later after her fourth—or fifth?—lager, she spotted him leaning against the entrance of the club, shamelessly staring at her as she danced, one hand with a drink and the other in his pocket. Pansy didn’t know what it was about him that infuriated her so much, but she had to admit he looked right fucking fit in those black trousers and v-neck.

 

She smirked upon noticing his gaze going down her body—he seemed to have a thing for her legs. Pansy sneered at him once she caught his eye, and Potter simply smiled sufficiently. So he wanted to play? Fine, she was bored anyway. Deciding to play along, she ignored him to see how long he could resist the urge to talk to her. That should be fun.

 

As a new, slower song started, Pansy walked away from the bar, carelessly taking a random bloke’s hand on the way and leading him to the dance floor. He had a rather surprised look on his face, but didn't complain when she flushed their bodies together.

 

Pansy never cared if she danced alone or accompanied, she would close her eyes and let the music take over her. She kept dancing, letting herself go as the beat reverberated to her very core, sensing Potter’s gaze on her all the while.

 

“Your flat or mine?” the bloke asked her after a couple of minutes.

 

Pansy huffed, amused, giving him a quick once-over. “Don’t think so, babe,” she responded, and turned her back on him to immediately find Potter standing right in front of her. Sneaky bastard.

 

“Gryffindarse,” she saluted.

 

“She-snake,” he responded through a snicker.

 

“I thought I'd gotten rid of you.”

 

“Not even Voldemort could do that,” he said haughtily. “What makes you think you're so special?”

 

Pansy repressed the involuntary shiver that the name had caused, and pouted, pretending to be hurt.

 

“Am I not?” She smirked and took a step closer. “Better be careful, Potter. What with you following me around, you’ll have me thinking I’m worthy of the Chosen One’s favour.”

 

They were mere inches away. Pansy bit her lip, inhaling Potter’s scent of fresh water, grass and wood as his eyes bore into hers. The atmosphere swiftly thickened between them and her chest prickled with something resembling excitement.

 

“Can't have that,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Wouldn't want to feed your already inflated ego, now would we?”

 

“You might want to watch your tongue, Golden Boy.” She ran the tips of her fingers along his collarbone. “It'd be a shame if you lost it, with so many naughty things you could do with it.”

 

Potter leaned down ever so lightly, so their smirking lips were almost touching. His breath, a whiff of bourbon and sugar, was hot and agitated like hers.

 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” It was not a question, it was most definitely an affirmation and Pansy found herself agreeing with him.

 

His eyes had a spark in them that others might’ve thought was intimidating, but to her it was like a challenge too difficult to resist. In that moment, Pansy wanted nothing more than to explore Potter’s limits. To take him slowly apart and see how rough and demanding he could get, or how soft and compliant he could be.

 

Slowly, teasingly, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and flicked her tongue over it; an invitation, a dare. Potter’s low growl was the last thing she heard. What seemed like a second later, in a hazy blur of hungry looks and harsh, biting kisses, Pansy felt herself being pushed against a wall.

 

She opened her eyes to realize they were in one of the restrooms. The door slammed shut by itself, she didn’t know if it was hers or Potter’s magic to be held responsible for it and she didn't care.

 

Moans escaped her as he nibbled and sucked at her neck and shoulder. She allowed Potter’s rough attentions, his hands kneading at her arse cheeks, pulling her dress up fast and desperate. She knew it wasn't right, but it was precisely the wrongness of the situation what exhilarated her. Pansy wanted to spur him on, wanted Potter to give her his all, so she shoved him away, breathing hard.

 

“Is that all you've got, Potter?” She sneaked a hand under her lace thong and teased herself. “I can show you how it's done.”

 

His eyes darkened as they followed the movements of her hand. Pansy saw the line of Potter’s cock against his tented trousers and _fuck,_ it looked promising.

 

“You never learned how to shut the fuck up, did you?” he said, unbuckling his belt as he took a swift step closer, and cupped her jaw in one hand, running his thumb down her bottom lip. Pansy licked his digit and quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Fucking tease,” he murmured. “I'll show you what I've got.”

 

A huffed laugh was all the answer she could give him, for Potter dropped to his knees. She hadn’t been expecting that, but even though oral sex had never done much for her before, who was she to refuse the Saviour kneeling before her so willingly?

 

Her thoughts were cut off by Potter roughly pulling her underwear down to her knees and taking her hand from between her thighs. Pansy’s eyes widened as she watched him sucking the wetness off her fingers, moaning like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. The sight had her heart racing, she could feel herself dripping wet almost to her thighs. Someone tried to open the door of the restroom and started knocking insistently.

 

“Get on with it,” she urged him through a whisper.

 

Without wasting time, Potter inched closer and licked at her hip bone, through her short pubic hairs, kissing messily before spreading her open and running his tongue over her clit. Pansy gripped softly at his hair to hold him in place and let her head tip back, the slow, circular movements over her most sensitive spot ripped unexpected gasps and whimpers from her throat.

 

 _“Fuck, Potter_. _Oh, fuck._ ” As much as she tried, no other words could come out of her mouth. She looked down at him and met his gaze, he was watching her expressions intently, the dark green of his irises barely visible around his wide pupils.

 

Pansy bucked her hips, rubbing against his tongue, chasing her climax; the thought of coming in Potter’s mouth was drawing her near the edge. The rhythm of his tongue became faster, his hands squeezing at her thighs in a bruising grip. She didn't stop to think it was the first time she was going to come like this, all she cared about was grinding against his face, seeking her own pleasure. When her legs started trembling and the heaving of her chest stuttered, Potter wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking in earnest.

 

 _“Potter, f-fuck!”_ Shivers ran up and down her body, her vision blurred as he kept sucking and flicking his tongue. Her orgasm hit her, so intense her knees quivered and she would have slipped to the floor if it hadn't been for his strong grip.

 

He didn't give her time to recover. Potter stood up and caressed her oversensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers, making her gasp some more. Pansy’s gaze fell to his shiny lips, she couldn't resist the temptation to taste herself and sucked at his chin and bit his lips. She unbuttoned and tugged his trousers down as she did so, and her hand automatically closed around Potter’s cock. _Fuck,_ she had to look down to make sure her perception wasn’t deceiving her, and swallowed hard at the sight.

 

Her mouth watered as she lightly stroked him, and Potter’s longing moans had her imagining a dozen things she'd like to do to him. It didn't matter that she had just come, it didn't matter that they were doing this in a filthy fucking restroom… she wanted more.

 

They ignored whoever that was now pounding on the door. Pansy let her thong fall to her feet and stepped off it, carelessly kicking it aside. She swiped the large bead of precome from the tip of his cock and sucked it off her thumb, making sure Potter was watching. He groaned, and she could swear she could see the fire in his eyes before he spun her around and walked her to one of the stalls, biting and sucking at the soft skin on her back as they went, an arm around her waist.

 

“Do you really want this, Parkinson?” he murmured against her ear.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Potter,” Pansy demanded, facing him again and pushing him to sit on the toilet. “Be a good boy.”

 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Potter wandlessly cast a protective charm on himself and squeezed the base of his length as Pansy straddled him, holding onto his shoulders and aligning her entrance to the tip of his cock. They both moaned as she slowly lowered herself, the feeling of being filled up made her skin prickle. Potter gripped at her waist when she was all the way down, and she let him take only a couple of breaths before knocking his hands away. Pansy wasn't one to just spread her legs and wait to be fucked, she was going to make sure Potter would never forget that.

 

“Don't think for even a second that you're getting to fuck me, Potter,” she said smugly, leaning down to suck at his earlobe. “ _You're_ the one who's getting fucked tonight.”

 

He let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, bucking his hips upwards, unable to contain himself.

 

“You like that, don't you? You like me saying naughty little things,” she teased as she started moving her hips in slow, tantalizing circles. “ _Mmm,_ I have to admit I didn't think your cock would feel so fucking good, Potter.”

 

He merely hissed and gasped, gliding his hands over her thighs and up her waist. He tugged at her cleavage and bra and gently squeezed her breasts. Pansy thrust harder, faster until the slapping noises of skin against skin were almost as loud as their moans.

 

“Oh, _fuck,_  Potter. I want to come again on your cock, leave it dripping wet,” she murmured.

 

 _“Mmm, shit.”_ Potter held on to her waist in a grip that was sure to leave a mark. “You feel so _fucking_ good, Parkinson.” He closed his eyes, clearly trying to control himself, but she didn't stop. Pansy was the one in control, and the power she had over him was intoxicating on a level she had never reached before, bringing her over the edge yet again.

 

Potter shook his head and opened his eyes, not wanting to miss a single detail. Pansy reached down to massage her clit, still sensitive from her first orgasm, and his gaze immediately followed. She could feel his cock going impossibly harder as he watched her, and the pleasure soon became unbearable. The movements of her hips became erratic and her mind went blank. She came again with a loud whimper, every single muscle in her body screaming with delight. Potter circled her waist, pressing their bodies together and then he fucked hard into her, leaving her nearly breathless. With a last effort, Pansy opened her eyes and pulled at his hair, making him look into her eyes.

 

“Are you going to come for me, Potter? Fuck, I wish you would come in my mouth so I could taste you.”

 

His chest heaved and drops of sweat were trickling down his temples as he thrusted once, twice and came with a low, feral groan. Their breathing was ragged and they were both nearly shaking from exhaustion. Someone pounded on the door again and immediately, a thought of ‘what the fuck have you just done’ crossed Pansy’s mind. She noticed something like realization dawning in Potter’s face too, and she didn’t want to wait for him to say words she didn't need or even want to hear. She stood up ignoring Potter’s gasp, her legs still a bit weak, and rearranged her dress, not bothering to fetch her discarded underwear.

 

“Nice fuck, Potter.” She smirked and lifted an eyebrow, and without giving her heart the chance to steady its beats, she _Apparated_ out of the place.

 

Pansy plopped on the sofa of her living room, still breathing hard. When her legs stopped trembling and her heart rate went back to normal, she went to the restroom and charmed the water tap to fill the tub with golden-coloured water and bubbles. She spotted a small love bite on her neck and another on her shoulder as she undressed in front of the mirror. Pansy ran the tips of her fingers over them, and for some reason that she couldn't fully understand, she decided not to heal them.

 

The tub was nearly full. She entered and sat in it, leaning back and letting the suds cover her just above her breasts. The warm water immediately had a relaxing effect on her sore muscles.

 

“What a fucking night,” she mumbled.

 

It seemed unreal that, just minutes ago, she had had sex with Harry Potter. She couldn’t help remembering his talented tongue, his delicious roughness, the feeling of his fucking perfect cock inside her… Her hands traveled on her body under the water, tracing every inch of skin Potter had touched, and felt desire blooming within her again. Pansy snickered, imagining what her friends would say—especially Draco—if she told them about her unexpected little adventure. Though it would be fun to see the expressions on their faces, she realized, as her fingertips ran down toward her center, that she would never tell a soul about what had happened tonight… not if she wanted it to happen again. After all, he knew where to find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to Sophia and Rachel for the beta!! I love you both so freaking much! ♡♡♡♡


	3. Chapter 3

Harry hated himself Thursday morning. He woke up way too early and spent the better part of an hour just lying in bed, chewing on his lip as he stared at the ceiling.

 

After his first—rather spiteful but at the same time awkwardly erotic—word exchange with Parkinson, his constant daydreaming fantasies the next day at work only made him more determined to never go back to the club. But as the days went by, his wet dreams had increased, contrary to his resolution, which had dissolved like an ice cube under the summer sun. And then it was Wednesday night, and he had found himself putting on his most well-fitting shirt and arse-hugging trousers, oddly hoping to bump into Parkinson again.

 

_ Be careful what you wish for,  _ he thought.

 

Even though the sex had been more than fantastic and that he was sure Parkinson had enjoyed it too, he couldn't shake off the thought that she wasn't one to be trusted.

 

He had always been careful not to do anything stupid in public–had to, what with Rita Skeeter still out on the hunt for juicy gossip about him, but he'd lost all of his self control last night. He couldn’t blame alcohol this time, he wasn’t that much of a lightweight and he’d barely finished his second drink before everything went down. There was something about Parkinson, but Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was the way she talked to him: flirtatious but spiteful, like she hated him but at the same time wanted to fuck his brains out.

 

The events of the previous night flashed through his mind and his hands prickled, as if he could still feel her hot skin under his palms. He remembered the way her long hair curled on her sweaty neck and shoulders, remembered her riding his face and he licked his lips, almost expecting to find Parkinson’s taste still lingering on them. And fucking  _ hell,  _ the way she touched herself… Harry groaned as he felt himself going hard again just thinking about it. He promptly got out of bed and stalked off to the kitchen to busy himself with breakfast. How could he let his cock do all the thinking for him? What was he, a fucking animal? He knew he was probably going to pay for his brainless impulse of stupidity, surely Parkinson had already written and sent a letter to  _ The Prophet  _ with all the details of their one off smash, and surely it had already been published and read by the vast majority of the Wizarding World. He could already picture the front page: ‘The Chosen Fuckboy’s Unhealthy Infatuation’ or some rubbish of the sort.

 

He couldn't finish his breakfast. The bitter taste of worry ruined his toast and bacon; it felt like he was chewing cardboard and couldn't swallow it down. He changed into his Auror robes, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders, and considered the option of calling in sick. The thought was immediately discarded as he reminded himself about the new clues to their last case. So Harry  _ Apparated _ to the Ministry and braced himself for what was to come.

 

Unbelievably, he received only the usual ‘good morning’s and polite smiles from the rest of the employees on his way to the Auror department. He saw several of them carrying newspapers under their arm, but there were no teasing remarks, no smug smirks, no outraged comments… it was like any other day at work. Perplexed, he reached his cubicle and found Zacharias Smith already sitting by his side of their desk, his face hidden behind a copy of _The Prophet._ Harry took a deep breath.

 

“Good morning,” he said, and sat on his chair.

 

“Mhm,” was all the response he got, as usual. If there had been any article about Harry, Smith wouldn't have wasted the opportunity to be an arsehole about it. Still, Harry wanted to be sure.

 

“Anything interesting in the papers?”

 

It seemed Smith was going to ignore him, but then he turned a page and his eyes widened.

 

“Actually,” he drawled, and Harry’s heart stopped. _Shit, She-snake_ _did it._

 

Just as his partner straightened on his chair and was about to speak, a small paper plane came flying into their cubicle and landed on the middle of their desk. Smith reached for it and read it aloud. “Auror Potter, come to my office immediately. We have a serious and urgent matter to discuss. Head Auror Robards.”

 

“Fuck.” Harry felt like a bucket of ice-cold water was poured on him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ ”

 

Smith looked at him with a glint in his eyes that was almost evil.

 

“My-my, have you been naughty, Potter?” he teased, malice and amusement clear in his voice.

 

Harry left the cubicle without a word. His whole body was tense as he walked past the rest of the cubicles, so wrapped up in his paranoid thoughts that he could swear he felt everybody’s eyes on him.

 

He wasn't afraid of being chided by his superior—he’d been off-duty, after all—it was more the fact that, if Parkinson  _ had  _ talked, the press would most probably make him look like a sex-crazed pervert that couldn’t keep it in his pants in public. All the weirdos that kept accosting Harry would be delighted, of course, and he would never be able to leave his flat again.

 

Robards’ door was open. Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat and squared his shoulders before knocking and stepping in.

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

 

“Close the door and sit, Potter.” Robards gestured to the chair in front of him, his serious expression did nothing to soothe Harry. “Well, son, it’s needless to say you are the representation of hope and courage for the Wizarding World, and also an example for all the young Witches and Wizards who will grow looking up to you.”

 

He sighed, exhausted. And Harry had to look away, fixing his gaze on his boss’s left ear, feeling guilty for not thinking properly about the consequences of his actions. 

 

“I’m an old man, Potter, soon to be retired in a month or maybe less. My muscles are not what they used to be. You're young and strong, full of stamina and vigour.”

 

“Er.” Harry thought he'd been summoned for a scold, but this was getting a bit… awkward, truth be told.

 

“I've been thinking about your course of action when in difficult situations, and I have to say I'm very much impressed,” Robards continued.

 

Alright, this was more than awkward. Was Harry really being complimented for fucking in a public restroom?

 

“And so I would like to make you a proposition that I'm sure you  _ won't _ refuse.”

 

Oh, fuck. Robards was about to ask Harry to suck his cock, wasn't he? If so, he was ready to flee the country, lock himself up in a cabin in some forgotten forest and never see daylight again.

 

“I spoke about this with Minister Kingsley, and he would very much like to see you in the position, too.”

 

What the  _ fuck? _ Kingsley? What  _ position? _ Oh, Parkinson was going to pay for this, Harry was willing to unleash Hermione on her.

 

“So, we would like for you–”

 

He wanted to say  _ fuck no,  _ but was too afraid to open his mouth and vomit on the axminster.

 

“–to become the next Head Auror once I leave the post. What you say, Potter?” Robards concluded, a wide smile on his face and oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle.

 

_ “Ohthankfuck!” _ he said through a sigh, slumping on his chair. He soon realized what he’d just said and cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, sir. I meant– I…”

 

“That's alright, son.” Robards chuckled and waved his words away, misinterpreting Harry’s relief. “You wouldn't believe what I said to my superior when he offered me the post. Couldn't look him in the eye for a fortnight.”

 

Harry forced a laugh that sounded a tad hysterical. He cleared his throat again, and after accepting the bloody fucking  _ proposition,  _ excused himself and exited the office as discreetly fast as possible.

 

He snatched  _ The Prophet _ from Smith's hands as soon as he entered their cubicle and skimmed through it.

 

“ _ Someone's _ in a fucking mood today,” his partner mumbled.

 

Harry ignored him, too busy reading the titles of the articles to care for the rant about manners that was happening before him. There was only a stupid article about him being elected Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year, which he was sure was the one Smith had been talking about. Other than that, there was nothing. Harry discarded the paper on the desk and slumped on his chair, his brows knitted.

 

So, Parkinson hadn't said a single word about what happened last night. Harry was undoubtedly relieved, but it was too soon to talk, it was still early in the morning, maybe something would come up later throughout the day.

 

* * *

 

Thursday went by, and so did Friday and Saturday, and Harry hadn't heard or read even the slightest hint of rumour about him.

 

On Sunday, he couldn't stop wondering. Parkinson could’ve sold the story to  _ The Prophet,  _ could've attempted to blackmail him. Instead, she kept quiet. That was… interesting.

 

He remembered the night at the club during his shower that evening. He’d already surrendered to having his mind invaded by thoughts of her, to having his secret fantasies—that used to feature Ginny or that bloke from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad—turn into fantasies about Parkinson. So it wasn't a surprise to find himself hard, his forehead resting against the wall as the warm water fell down his back. He stroked his cock and fondled his balls, thinking of Parkinson’s lips. He thought of her taste on his tongue as he ran his other hand from his chest to the small of his back, his finger sneaking down his arse and gently teasing his tight hole. He moaned as the image of Parkinson doing those things to him instead of himself popped in his mind, and Harry pumped his cock faster, burying his finger as deep as he could.

 

His legs trembled when his orgasm hit him, come dripping from his pulsing cock onto his hand, his arse clenching around his middle finger. Still gasping, Harry quickly let go of his cock and licked what little come was left on his fingers and wrist, humming at the delightful salty-sweet taste.

 

Sometime later, once in bed, he made a decision; he wasn't sure what the reason for Parkinson’s silence might be and curiosity was eating him up. He couldn't wait until next Wednesday to find out.

 

He arrived early at the Ministry next Monday morning and entered the lift along with a witch from the Committee on Experimental Charms—her ears had been purple for almost three weeks now. Instead of hopping off at the DMLE in level two, Harry went straight to the Department of Magical Transportation in level six and into the Floo Authority office.

 

“Good morning–” he read the name tag on the chest of the young man behind the desk, and smiled, “–Gary.”

 

“Harry Potter,” the lad said through a gasp, his eyes wide and his cheeks rapidly blushing. “I– G-good morning, sir. What can I do for you?”

 

“If you could check if there’s a Floo address listed for Parkinson, Pansy it'd be greatly appreciated.”

 

“Parkinson?” Gary frowned, he clearly knew who she was. Harry merely raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, never breaking eye contact. “Er… I mean, yes. Yes, of course, sir! Anything for you!”

 

He quickly pointed his wand to the file cabinets to his right. One of the drawers opened and a parchment scroll came flying straight to his hand.

 

Harry watched him untie it and skimmed through the names with his finger, raising his gaze and smiling to Harry every few seconds. He had always felt uncomfortable with the looks of adoration some people gave him, and even though Gary was very nice to look at, this time was no different. Thankfully, right before Harry succumbed to the temptation of fidgeting with his sleeve, Gary let out a  _ ‘tsk’ _ and looked up at him with an apologetic expression.

 

“I'm so very sorry, Mr Potter. The owner of this Floo requested it be taken off the directory, and there's no listed mail address either, for privacy reasons.”

 

“Right. Suppose not everyone wants people bursting out of their fireplace at any given time.” Harry scratched the back of his neck. 

 

That didn't go as planned. He frowned trying to think of a solution, but he couldn't concentrate with Gary fluttering his lashes and looking at him with puppy eyes, like there was nothing more brilliant in this world and–

 

After considering his chances, Harry leaned on the desk and licked his lips before smiling.

 

“Listen, Gary, this is very important for me. You'd be making me such a huge favour,” he said in a low voice. He bit his bottom lip as let his hand wander closer to Gary’s, leaving it half and inch apart. “I would owe you big time.”

 

The blush in Gary’s freckled cheeks spread to his neck, and his eyes dropped to look at the closeness between their hands before smiling back at Harry.

 

Harry arrived home an hour later than usual—they were so close to cracking this case—with Parkinson’s Floo address scribbled in a note, safely tucked in his pocket, and a promise for coffee with Gary.

 

He ordered a pizza and showered while it arrived, all the while thinking of proper ways to contact Parkinson. Should he try his luck and just tumble through her Floo, risking getting hexed? A list of all the possible body parts he could get shrunk or lose all together popped up in his mind.

 

Half an hour and five slices of pizza later, Harry sat in his living room, alternatively staring between the fireplace and Parkinson’s address. He considered forgetting about it all, go on with his life and act like nothing had happened, like Parkinson had… but Harry was known for his stubbornness.

 

He took a deep breath, and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

 

“The coven!”

 

Green flames arose and Harry gripped his wand tighter before stepping into them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what y'all are gonna say and I agree, this chapter was very very light, but chapter 4 is finished and... trust me. I'll make it up for you *wink*
> 
> Rachel and Phia, I love you both :*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESS!!! ♡♡♡ I promised you a chapter gift and here it is for you to enjoy, babe! I know you're having a bomb ass time over there, at the other side of the pond, so I hope this little thing I wrote complements the awesome day that you're going to have today. Please know that I live for your comments, I love when you scream at my dm and your emoji recs have me squealing lolol. Thank you so much for being so supportive, boo. I wish you the best and that you have the most wonderful of birthdays with your loved ones. Love you!! ♡♡♡

Harry spun out of the fireplace.

 

“Hello?” No answer. “Hello!?”

 

He looked around. The living room’s walls were minty-green, there were chocolate-brown sofas and a small coffee table. Nothing like what he had thought a Slytherin’s place would look like; not a single skull was in sight.

 

Parkinson was clearly not home. Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t be there either. He brushed soot off of his shoulder and realized he had forgotten to put a shirt on—definitely a sign, then—so he turned around to go back and forget all this fucking nonsense but, suddenly, a voice behind him shouted.

 

_“Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!”_

 

His wand flew out of his grasp, he felt his hands being pulled behind him and ropes tying tightly around his wrists and ankles. The force of the spell made him tumble and fall face first on the floor, and the pain had white little stars bursting behind his eyelids.

 

“Got you, you fucking thief!”

 

“Wait!” Harry rolled over, ignoring the pain that was pounding on his forehead.

 

 _“Potter?_ ” Parkinson lowered her wand, looking absolutely confused. _“_ What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

 

“Release me–” he moved into a kneeling position, “–and I’ll tell you.”

 

“No, I don't think I will.” She crossed her arms and gave him a sufficient look. “My Floo address is unlisted. You’re trespassing private property, so you have no right to put any conditions, Auror Potter. I would like to know what the fuck you want.”

 

“I just wanted to talk to you, alright!?” he bellowed.

 

“Talk to me? Aww!” She winked at him and smirked. “Did you miss me?”

 

Harry snorted, but his eyes inevitably looked up and down her body. He had grown so used to the idea of her in a sort of femme fatale way that it was disconcerting to see her like this—wearing a tank top, baggy plaid pajama bottoms and her hair pulled up in a messy bun, just like any other girl. Harry liked it. In fact, she looked quite gorgeous… and his already half-hard cock agreed.

 

“What are you ogling at, Potter?” she said, amused. “Thought you'd find me in a sheer negligee and high heel slippers?”

 

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted quietly, feeling a blush spreading on his cheeks. “Listen, can we just… talk? And can you, please, untie me?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, let me think about that.” She faked an extremely heavy sigh before saying, deadpan, “No. But I'll listen to what you've got say.”

 

She went to sit on the nearest sofa, crossed her legs and summoned what Harry thought must've been her best sneer yet.

 

“Right.” He quit trying to free himself from his bindings and huffed. “I spent the last days thinking I would find an article about us in the papers. When it didn't happen I was… surprised, to say the least. So I–I wanted to say thank you.”

 

“Hm. And that's what you needed to talk about?” She squinted, and Harry knew he was in trouble.

 

“Er… yes?”

 

The smirk returned to her lips.

 

“You're a _terrible_ liar, Golden Boy,” she said.

 

Harry frowned and swallowed. “I don't know what you're talk–”

 

“You know what I think?” Parkinson interrupted, snickering. “I think you _loved_ sucking my cunt. I think you wanked _really_ fucking hard thinking about me.” Harry watched as she uncrossed her legs and her hand slid down between her thighs. Her earnestness caught him so unaware that he couldn't do more than stare. “I know I've had a few orgasms thinking about you, too.”

 

He tried his best to keep a neutral expression, but the thought of Parkinson, doing the exact same thing he had been doing the past nights, got him fully hard in seconds.

 

“I can see you were _desperate_ to see me again,” she said quietly, giving him a once-over and rolling her hips, rubbing herself over the fabric of her pajamas. “Am I wrong?”

 

Harry’s mouth watered, his heart quickened. This was probably why he couldn't stop thinking about her, because she didn't wait for him to take the first step, she wasn't afraid to take the initiative to get what she wanted. She raised an eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

 

“I asked you a question, Potter.”

 

“No,” he said, barely controlling his ragged breathing. “You're not wrong.”

 

Parkinson _Vanished_ her pajamas, and with a flick of her wand, she pulled Harry closer, leaving him kneeling only a step away from her. The sight of her smooth skin and soft curves made him lean forward, trying to reach her, but Parkinson stopped him with a foot on his chest.

 

“No no no,” she said teasingly. “If you want to touch me, you’ll have to tell me _how_ you've been thinking about me.”

 

“I…” Harry faltered.

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

 _“No!”_ he answered before she even finished asking. “No.”

 

“Tell me then, Potter.” She opened her legs further as she licked her index and middle fingertips, and started caressing her clit ever-so delicately. “Maybe I'll suck you off if you're a good boy.”

 

 _Fuck._ Harry’s cock throbbed at her words. He hadn’t been sure if he could do it, he’d never been verbal about his wants and needs, had never dared to. For fear? Embarrassment? He didn't know, but here was Parkinson, unknowingly proving to Harry that he had a kind of bravery he had never thought he’d possessed. In this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to hear her call him a good little boy again.

 

“I've–I've thought about… about how good you tasted when you came in my mouth.”

 

She smiled and nodded, encouraging him to continue.

 

“I’ve thought about you on your knees, fucking you while I pull your hair.” Harry bucked his hips, seeking the friction his hands couldn't provide, a wet spot already spreading on his joggers.

 

“Go on,” Parkinson murmured, alternating her fingers between rubbing her clit and fucking herself.

 

The images Harry had wanked to just the day before came into mind and he got carried away by desire.

 

“I've thought about you fingering my arse while you suck my cock.” The words had spilled out before could stop them. His eyes widened, unsure what Parkinson’s reaction would be, but he saw her gaze darken and her lips parting.

 

 _“Fuck, Potter._ Don't stop, tell me _more,_ ” she moaned as she pinched a nipple, the rhythm of her fingers on her clit quickening by the second, and _shit,_ Harry could come right then and there. A hint of embarrassment was still in the back of his mind, but his increasing bravery nudged him to continue.

 

“I want you to finger my arse so good until you make me come in your mouth, Parkinson. Want you to swallow every fucking drop and then let me taste myself on your lips.”

 

The breathy sounds she was making became quicker, and Harry knew she was close. He had never been much of a dirty talker, but seeing Parkinson like this, nearly reaching her orgasm spurred only by his words... Harry rolled his hips and twisted and pulled at his bindings, desperate to touch her, to touch himself, anything he could get.

 

“Do you want to fuck me, Parkinson? I've been wanking myself raw just thinking about it," he continued, not even bothered by the slight burn of the ropes on his wrists. “ _Please_ fuck my arse? I've been good.”

 

With a swift movement of her wand, she freed Harry’s hands.

 

“Come here. Now,” she said through a ragged whisper, and he immediately obeyed.

 

He leaned forward, between her thighs, and looked up at her as he sucked her cunt, delighted to hear her rough gasp of _“fuck, keep going!”_ Harry felt her swollen clit pulsing against his tongue as she came. Her back arched, her legs quivering and her chest heaving.

 

 _“Fuck, Potter!”_ Parkinson grasped the nape of his neck and Harry nearly growled, loving the way she whimpered and grinded against his face until her whole body started trembling.

 

He could still hear her panting when she gently pushed him back and cupped his jaw in her hands, tilting his head back and leaning down to suck his lips. The kiss turned deep and so deliciously rough, it had him moaning.

 

 _“Mmm,_ good boy,” she complimented, dragging her thumb over his bottom lip. “Ask me again.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ask me what you want me to do.”

 

Harry swallowed hard, feeling like his cock would explode in any minute.

 

“Can you fuck my arse?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very polite, darling.”

 

“Please? _Please_ fuck my arse?” he asked almost desperately.

 

Parkinson smirked. She stood up and gestured for Harry to do the same. His knees were sore from kneeling on the floor, but he dismissed the pain when she _Vanished_ his joggers and pants, and made him sit on the sofa. His flushed cock hit his stomach, the tip was obscenely covered in precome and it smeared below his belly button.

 

She knelt before him without wasting time, and Harry hissed when she licked his balls, up the underside of his cock and then finally swirled her tongue around the tip. He had to take a couple of deep breaths, and tried to think of something mind-numbing enough to stop him from coming right that second. Sensing his impending orgasm, Parkinson ceased her attentions. Suddenly, she pushed his legs back and Harry felt the tingling sensation of a deep cleaning charm.

 

_Shit. It's happening, this is happening, it really is._

 

“Relax, Golden Boy,” she said with a smile, and pushed his knees further up.

 

His heart hammered against his chest, every single one of his pores exuding adrenaline at the feeling of exposure, at the sight of Parkinson lowering her head. Harry gasped and felt the hairs in the back of his neck standing when her smooth tongue glided over his arse hole, first in long up-and-down licks and then in slow circles.

 

It was clearly not the first time she had done this, and Harry was absolutely not complaining. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and gripped the back of his knees to stop the urge to touch himself as he rolled his hips, meeting the gentle thrusts of the tip of her tongue in his arse. He didn’t care that the whimpers that escaped his lips were becoming embarrassingly loud; he had never been so fucking turned on in his life.

 

He groaned when he felt Parkinson pulling away, but after a quick murmured spell, the absence of her tongue was immediately replaced by the tip of a lubed finger.

 

“Look at you, so hard and wet for me,” Parkinson mumbled, kissing and nibbling at the back of his thighs as she circled his entrance. “You've been craving this, haven't you, Potter?”

 

He bit his lips and nodded, pushing his hips against her finger, desperately wanting to be filled up. She hummed and smirked as she slowly entered him. Harry welcomed the soft burn and moaned as Parkinson soothingly caressed his thighs and carefully, slowly slipped her finger inside until her knuckles were flush against his arse.

 

“Merlin, you have no idea how fucking good you look." Her gaze ran over his body as she started pumping in and out. “Your tight little hole feels so nice around my finger, taking it so well. You like it, Potter?”

 

She conjured more lube and Harry felt another finger teasing his entrance.

 

 _“Yes!_ F-feels so good,” he panted. Sweat trickled down his hairline, precome leaked from his cock.

 

“What do you want? Tell me, don't be shy,” she said with a smirk.

 

“I want you to _fuck me,”_ he shouted. “I want your fingers fucking my arse as deep as they can get. I'm gonna come so bloody hard, Parkinson, _please_ give me more.”

 

“You’re such a good boy, Potter. I might have a thing for listening to you like this.”

 

There was no place in his mind for embarrassment anymore, all his rational thinking had been replaced with want, with the need to satisfy himself by simultaneously satisfying Parkinson.

 

“Keep going. Don't– _ah!_ –don't stop.” She finally slipped two fingers in, and the edges of Harry’s vision blurred when he felt soft nudges on his prostate. “ _God,_ _yes!_ Open me up, Parkinson. I want to feel you tomorrow morning.”

 

 _“Fuck,”_ she whispered, and Harry nearly screamed when she grabbed the base of his cock and sucked the precome off its tip, her tongue teasing his slit. “ _Hmm,_ you taste _so_ good, Potter. Bet your come tastes so fucking delicious, too.”

 

Without warning, she swallowed half of his cock, leaving him breathless as she took him as deep as she could. Harry tried to hold back, but with Parkinson’s cheeks hollowed, sucking him hard, her tongue swiping up and down his length, her free hand fondling his tight balls and her fingers fucking him just right... his breath stuttered and his orgasm rushed to his center.

 

“I’m not gonna last, P-Pan–”

 

It was all the warning he could give her. Harry spilled as he thrust into her mouth, hips jerking, his hands gripping bruisingly tight on his trembling legs. He felt the whole room spinning as Parkinson kept sucking, her throat working around the head of his cock, swallowing every drop of his come while she fucked his arse through his climax. With one last swirl of her tongue around his cock, she let go with a soft _‘pop’_ , and let her fingers slip out.

 

Harry was a fucking mess, his face hot and his breathing ragged. He was floating so high in post-orgasmic bliss that he almost didn't realize Parkinson had leaned closer, a hand still cupping and fondling his balls.

 

“There’s so many other things I want to do to you, Potter,” she murmured before giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

 

His eyes snapped open and his cock stirred in a valiant effort to harden again as he chased the kiss.

 

“What kind of things?” he asked through a deep sigh, still struggling to level his heart rate.

 

“You'll have to wait and see,” she gave him a mischievous smile and looked straight into his eyes. “But I'm sure you'll love it.”

 

Parkinson’s words were full of promise, and Harry found himself eager to find out what she had planned for him.

  
“I think this could be the start of a _very_ lovely friendship, Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever thank you to Phia and Rachel, this silly writing would be nothing without you ♡


	5. Chapter 5

As Harry walked through the Atrium at the Ministry, he remembered the events of Monday evening.

 

_ “Ever been properly fucked, Potter?”  _ Parkinson had asked as they both rested on her sofa, exhausted after their second fuck session.

 

_ “I’ve never had anything up my arse other than your fingers and my own, if that’s what you mean.”  _ The admission hadn't been as embarrassing as Harry had thought, and when Parkinson gave him a mischievous smirk, he knew his honesty would pay off.

 

He fought against an erection at the memory of the conversation that took place after that—in which Parkinson told him about magical strap-ons that were cleverly charmed for the wearer to experience the sensations as their own. He, fortunately  _ and _ surprisingly, could stop himself from popping a boner by the time he arrived at his cubicle.

 

“Good  _ morning,  _ Potter. Lovely Friday, isn't it?” Smith’s greeting as soon as Harry stepped foot inside had him immediately switching to suspicion mode—it was never a good sign to find his Auror partner in such a cheery mood. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A scone? Page five of today’s  _ very  _ interesting  _ Prophet  _ edition?”

 

Ah, yes; gossip. Without waiting for Harry’s answer, Smith handed him the paper, already on the aforementioned page.  _ ‘Sod off, you imbecile’ _ was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but the blunt title of the article caught his attention. He took it and started reading.

  
  
  


_ ‘Ginny Weasley Throws Tantrum and is Dumped by Irrelevant Quidditch Player.’ _

 

> Ginevra Weasley (Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies) and her now former boyfriend, Puck Griffiths (Keeper for the Chudley Cannons) were spotted this Wednesday afternoon having a rather heated row outside of a muggle shop in West Cromwell Road. Weasley was sighted throwing the drink she was holding to the floor before repeatedly stabbing Griffiths’ chest with her finger, all the while murmuring what seemed to be angry words. Griffiths—in a display of boldness that he has never shown in the Quidditch pitch—merely gave her a once-over, scoffed, and stomped his way to the nearest alley, presumably to Disapparate, leaving an outraged Weasley on the spot. The reason for their argument remains unknown, but after witnessing the event, Rita Skeeter—our reinstated journalist—couldn’t help thinking what, surely, other inquiring minds are wondering; does the break up have anything to do with Harry Potter?
> 
> It is known by the Wizarding community that Weasley was the one who put an end to the nearly four year relationship she held with our beloved Harry. The cause was never revealed, but when Weasley was photographed in a romantic date with Griffiths only two weeks after ditching Harry, rumour had it that she had cheated.
> 
> A reliable source, who prefers to remain anonymous, has confirmed that Weasley had been complaining about Griffiths’ lack of attentiveness toward her for the last couple of months and that the ‘spark’ was almost gone.
> 
> Does Weasley regret breaking up with Harry? Will she try to get him back now that she’s single? Or will we see her with a new boyfriend in two weeks? Only time will tell, dear readers.

  
  
  


Harry folded the paper and dropped it on the desk as he walked to his chair, feeling Smith’s attentive gaze on his every move. It was useless to try and understand why Smith felt the need to show him the article. Harry and Ginny had broken up more than a year ago, and while they weren't the best of friends anymore, he certainly wasn't rejoicing on her not-so private life’s drama. Or maybe Smith was expecting him to be elated about it? To be getting his hopes up?

 

“So, Potter, did you have an interesting read?” he asked mockingly. Merlin, what did Harry ever do to deserve this arsehole for a partner.

 

“Not really,” he answered with a shrug, and started searching for a file in one of his drawers. “I couldn’t care less for other people’s love lives. I do hope she's okay, though. Don't think it's fair for  _ The Prophet  _ to drag her like that.”

 

“Yeah, poor girl,” Smith continued, a smirk stretching his lips. “She  _ must  _ be in the need of a nice, warm cuddle.”

 

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, unwilling to fall into Smith’s game—like he had so many times before.

 

“You seem a bit needy, too,  _ mate, _ ” he said, hoping the sarcasm was noticeable enough. “I can put in a good word for you, if that's what you're implying. Can't guarantee it'll work, though.”

 

Realizing he failed to get whatever reaction he had wanted from Harry, Smith went to sit on his chair, scowling, and murmured, “We’re doing a raid at ten, you  _ better _ not fuck up.”

 

Harry didn't bother to hide his smile. It was becoming more and more easy to not let himself be riled up by Smith, and he suspected that his relaxed composure had a lot to do with the three orgasms Parkinson gave him last Monday. To make things better, they had agreed to meet at Harry’s flat today, and the anticipation made his day fly by pleasantly quick.

 

* * *

 

_ Hey Harry, _

 

_ Lately I've been thinking a lot about you for some strange reason. Ron says you visited the Burrow last Sunday. I had practice that day, but I would've loved to see you. We should hang out soon. I miss you, you know? So much, babe. _

 

_ Do you think maybe we could meet at my place and have a chat? There’s something I want to talk to you about. I’m free next Tuesday, let me know if that day is okay for you. _

 

_ Love, _

_ Gin. _

  
  


Harry had arrived home to find an owl waiting for him outside his kitchen window, carrying the letter he had just read. He stared at the words, trying to comprehend their meaning. Ginny hadn't written ever since they broke up, and now, right after the article about her and Griffiths was published, she suddenly missed him.

 

After a couple minutes, he decided he might’ve been reading too much into the situation. What if Ginny just needed someone to talk to? He didn't know if she had any real, trustworthy friends anymore, and Harry  _ did _ miss their friendship, after all. Who was he to deny her a shoulder to cry on, a friend to talk to?

 

He scribbled a quick response, agreeing to meet Ginny, and tied the note on the owl’s leg with a spell, not wanting to waste time. He had a meeting with Parkinson to get ready for.

 

* * *

 

Harry sat on the sofa, already half hard and drumming his fingers against his thighs, his foot tapping impatiently, eyes never leaving the fireplace as he waited.

 

The ticking sounds of his watch seemed too loud in the quietness of the living room, and he grew more and more jittery by the minute, expecting the green flames to burst into life in any second.

 

It was still difficult to assimilate to it, the rapidness with which this Parkinson situation had evolved. Not in a romantic way, more like a friends–no,  _ acquaintances _ with benefits type of thing. Harry wasn't opposed to the new type of thrill it all brought to his life, though. Three weeks ago, he had been home alone, eating too many chocolate frogs and rereading an old edition of X-men for the hundredth time. Now, he was eagerly waiting for Parkinson to show up and fuck him like he had never been before.

 

He took a deep breath and palmed his crotch over his trousers, adjusting his cock. He had prepared himself during his shower earlier—thought it would make things easier if he stretched himself a bit. It was the first time he had ever done something like this and wasn't sure what he should do once she arrived. Should he lead her to his bedroom? No, too intimate. Maybe he should offer her some tea? He only had Earl-Grey and didn't know if it was fancy enough to–

 

Harry's breath hitched when the Floo suddenly roared and a figure came spinning out of it in a swirl of green and red. Parkinson stood before him, signature smirk on her glossy lips and a hand on her hip. He had liked her in plaid pajamas and messy hair, but the sight of her wearing a long, red silk robe had him swallowing hard and widening his eyes.

 

“Don't look so shocked, Potter. Slytherins can wear red every now and then.”

 

“Never said you couldn't,” he mumbled.

 

“Do you like it?” She gracefully turned around for him—still such a fucking tease.

 

Harry nodded, and her eyes glinted with mischief as she walked forward, heels clicking against the wooden floor. His cock grew harder upon noticing the line of what was surely a strap-on against her robe.

 

“Too bad I got all this soot on it. Mind if you help me fetch my wand so I can clean up?” Parkinson raised her right foot and put it on the sofa, between his legs, robe sliding off her leg to reveal a black stiletto, her wand tucked on the hem of a black stocking that went up to her thigh.

 

Harry’s lips parted and his heartbeat quickened, and  _ fuck  _ if his hands didn't tingle with the desire to reach out. Never had he seen anyone wearing something like this—except for the women in the mags Dudley had had stashed under his mattress. He rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers, and looked up at her, hoping the question was clear in his eyes.

 

“Go ahead,” she said softly. “You can touch.”

 

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and his gaze fell to his hands as he started running his fingers up her ankle and calf. When he finally took the wand and offered it to Parkinson, the need to feel the texture of the stocking against his tongue had grown so strong his mouth was watering. She spelled the soot away as he let his gaze wander up her body, and his eyes stopped at her crotch.

 

“Are you–are you wearing it?” The question came out as barely more than a whisper. Harry looked up to her again, and she arranged her hair to the said before nodding.

 

“A quick spell and the charm will be activated… but I need your safe word first.”

 

She had already explained to him what a safe word was, and even though he didn't think he would need it, he didn't have a hard time coming up with one.

 

“Malfoy,” he mused, unabashed.

 

Parkinson merely huffed, and after stepping off the sofa, she untied the silk ribbon around her waist. When she opened her robe and let it fall to the floor, Harry’s cock throbbed at the sight; a black see-through bra that had him wanting to suck at her nipples over the sheer fabric, a matching garter belt, and that  _ fucking _ strap-on…  _ fuck.  _

 

_ “Satus,”  _ she murmured as she pointed her wand to her cock, and gently stroked it. Harry didn't know if it had grown so hard so fast due to the spell, or because Parkinson was that aroused.

 

“Tell me,” she said conversationally. “Have you ever sucked cock before?”

 

“Yes.” He nodded and licked his lips, ready to swallow her down. “I have.”

 

“Is that so?” When he nodded again, confident in his oral abilities, she smirked and quirked an eyebrow. “Be good and show me, then. Suck my cock, Potter.”

 

As if he had been waiting for her permission, Harry eagerly slid off the sofa to kneel on the floor, and ran his hand up her legs. Parkinson’s expression was calm as she watched him through her lashes, but by the way her chest heaved ever-so-lightly, he knew that she wasn't as composed as she pretended to be. He didn't take his eyes off hers as he dragged his tongue up the underside of her shaft and gently sucked on the tip, ripping a small gasp from her lips. Harry kept going, head bobbing as he took her deeper, swirling his tongue around her cock and palming his own over his trousers. He felt Parkinson’s fingers raking through his hair and her other hand cupping his jaw, andand he couldn't help but moan when she carefully, slowly thrusted into his mouth.

 

“Look at you,” she whispered. “So fucking hungry for this cock.”

 

Spurred by her words, Harry gripped at her hips and took her as deep as he could. His cheeks hollowed as his throat worked around the tip, the effort making his eyes grow watery.

 

_ “Fuck.”  _ Parkinson tilted her head back and rolled her hips against him, her loud moans making Harry’s cock ache with desire.

 

He pulled back, blinking away the blurriness and gasping for air.

 

“Can you fuck me?” Harry croaked, his voice rough.

 

“How can I say no? When you suck cock so deliciously.” She dragged her thumb across his lips. “I want to see that gorgeous arse of yours. Take your clothes off for me and kneel on the sofa.”

 

The commanding tone and the anticipation had him breathing hard. He stood and swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, nearly knocking his glasses off but not bothering to set them right, and unbuckled his belt.

 

“Eager, aren't we?” Parkinson teased, smirking and stroking herself as he undressed.

 

“Fuck off,” Harry said with a chuckle before pulling his trousers and pants down. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

 

“Cheeky little prat,” she said, taking a step forward and sliding a hand down his chest. “But you're right, you know. I can't wait to stretch you out.”

 

He nearly stumbled as he stepped out of his clothes. He didn't know why it was that hearing Parkinson—with her soft, almost purring voice—saying things like these affected him so much. Before he could give it much thought, she aligned their cocks and stroked them together.

 

_ “Oh, fuck!” _

 

“Can’t wait to have my cock  _ deep _ inside you,” she continued. “I'm going to fuck you so nice and slow, Potter, gonna make you feel  _ every _ inch.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, his breathing ragged as he bucked his hips, nearly whimpering when Parkinson suddenly let go and stepped back.

 

“Turn around,” she ordered, “and get on your knees.”

 

The disappointment he had felt vanished completely and he immediately obeyed. The feeling of exposure had a blush blooming on his face as he perked his arse up, but he paid no mind to it; there was no time for embarrassment. He felt Parkinson’s delicate hands caressing down his back and then spreading his cheeks apart.

 

“I've been craving to taste you all fucking week,” she murmured, her breath ghosting over his skin. Harry couldn't hold back a moan when her tongue glided all the way from his balls up to his arsehole.

 

He looked over his shoulder to see Parkinson sucking and licking at his arse like she couldn't get enough; he squeezed the base of his cock to ground himself. A lubed finger circled his entrance, and he couldn't help but push against it, the tip going in with little to no effort.

 

“Well, well, well.” Harry could sense she was smirking, and then her lips brushed against his ear. “Did you get ready for me, Potter? Did you open yourself up?”

 

“Yes.” He felt his face and grow hotter at his admittance. Her finger went deeper, and it wasn't long before she added a second one.

 

“Did you come?” She easily pumped in and out, scissoring and circling inside him as she licked his earshell.

 

“No, I–I didn't.”

 

“Good,” was all she said before adding a third finger and quickening her rhythm with each thrust, her free hand pulling an arse cheek open. “I wish you could see what I see, Potter. Your arse squeezing my fingers. Your cock leaking all over the cushion.”

 

“ _ Merlin,  _ Parkinson, just  _ fuck  _ me already.”

 

“Now, now,” she said as she slowed down. “I think I need to teach you some manners.”

 

“To hell with man _ ngh _ – _ ah! Fuck! _ ” The response died on his lips as she simultaneously pumped his cock and nudged his prostate. “ _ Fuck fuck fuck,  _ I'm so close–”

 

But thankfully, she immediately stopped. Harry didn't want to come, not yet.

 

“You see, Golden Boy,” Parkinson began, leaving a trail of kisses on his lower back. “When you want something,” She entered him again with two fingers. “You have to ask nicely for it.” She gently nudged his prostate again. “Saying ‘please’ would be a good start.”

 

“P– _please_ ,” he panted, his hands fisted to resist the urge to wank himself off.

 

“Sorry, I didn't catch that, darling.”

 

Harry groaned and nearly rolled his eyes, hating and loving how much she enjoyed teasing him. He thought of putting up a bit of a fight, of snarking back at her, but she then sucked on his balls and his resolve went right to hell.

 

_ “Please!?”  _ he all but shouted. “Please, can you fuck me?  _ God _ , I want to feel you inside me.  _ Please, _ Parkinson?”

 

He could hear her murmur something resembling, “That's more like it,” right before she took her fingers out and replaced them with the tip of her cock. Harry willingly spread himself open for her, and nothing but moans and an  _ ‘oh, fuck’ _ left his mouth at the bristling feeling as she entered him.

 

“Re–remember your safe word,” she said through a sigh, the struggle to keep her composure clear in her voice.

 

“I'm alright,” Harry said with a nod. “Keep going, just… do it slowly.”

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood. It all felt so different from being fingered; the friction… It would’ve been overwhelming, but Parkinson’s gentle movements and caresses soothed him, and sooner than he thought she was all the way in.

 

“Are you okay?” She had stilled and was holding onto Harry’s hips.

 

He nodded and kept his eyes closed as he took a couple deep breaths, both to adjust to the fullness and to stop himself from coming right that moment. When his heart finally stopped drumming in his ears, Harry tentatively, almost shyly, moved his hips in small circles.

 

“ _ Merlin fuck _ , you feel amazing, Potter,” Parkinson whispered, her hand shaky as she ran it up and down his back.

 

His rhythm became quicker the more comfortable he felt. He experimented with different angles, deciding which he liked better.

 

“Tell me when you're ready.” Her breathing was ragged, her nails slightly digging into his skin as she gripped his hips. He could tell she was refraining from thrusting into him, and it didn't come as a surprise to find himself wanting her to do it.

 

Harry straightened and held onto the back of the sofa. He looked over his shoulder again. Parkinson’s cheeks were flushed and her lips parted.

 

“Now,” he said confidently, locking his gaze to hers. “Fuck my arse, please?”

 

Her grip tightened and she bit her bottom lip, carefully rolling her hips. She inched her way in and out, each roll growing with intensity. Harry looked down on himself, his cock still leaking precome and bouncing against his taut abdomen as Parkinson pushed deeper.

 

He hissed at a particularly vicious thrust, and she slowed down for a moment. “Slower?”

 

“No. No, go faster,” he quickly answered, shaking his head. “ _ God, _ Parkinson, fuck me harder.”

 

She let out a rough sigh before circling an arm around his waist, pressing her chest against his back and softly kissing between his shoulder blades. Parkinson slowly pulled out until only the tip of her cock was inside, and gripped the strands of hair on the top of his head before pounding into Harry's arse.

 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ His eyes shot open. The blinding pleasure pushed every other thought out of his mind as she tugged at his hair and nipped at his shoulder. She fucked him hard and rough, hitting just the right spot and making his legs quiver, making him whimper and gasp.

 

“You love this fucking cock, don't you?” Parkinson said, still pounding into him. “ _ Shit,  _ I could fuck your tight arse all day long, Potter.”

 

“ _ Yes! Fuck!”  _ Harry was trying his best to keep his hands off his cock as his orgasm drew near, but didn't think he could resist any longer; not when Parkinson’s dirty talk undid him in more ways than anyone ever could. “Can I come? Please, can I?”

 

“ _ Mmm,  _ you beg like such a good boy. Do–it–again,” she ordered, accentuating each word with a thrust.

 

“ _ Please, _ will you let me come? I've been so good. Please, Parkinson, I'm gonna come real fucking hard with your cock  _ deep _ in my arse.”

 

“Yes, you fucking are.” She let go of his hair and Harry looked down to see her taking his swollen shaft in hand.

 

It didn’t take long for his orgasm to hit him. His balls to drew tight and his cock throbbed, only groans and incomprehensible mumbling left his mouth as long ropes of come hit the sofa and the cushions. Drips spilled down Parkinson’s hand as she kept fucking him, murmuring praise that his mind couldn't quite grasp. Without thinking, Harry took her hand to his lips and licked and sucked his come off her fingers.

 

_ “Oh, f _ – _ fuck!”  _ Her hips stuttered, her moans grew loud and Harry could almost feel her cock pulsing inside his arse as she came.

 

His thighs were trembling when she slowly slid all the way out, and he let himself fall sideways on the sofa, exhausted. A soft  _ ‘umph’  _ let him know that Parkinson had slumped somewhere near his knees. For a couple of minutes, nothing else could be heard in Harry’s living room other than their ragged breathing. It should've been awkward, maybe, but it felt rather pleasant. With a grunt, he turned to lay face up and looked over to where she was sitting with her eyes closed and face towards the ceiling.

 

“That was really fucking intense,” he said.

 

Parkinson hummed and smiled. “It sure fucking was.”

 

“Can we do it again?”

 

She smirked as she sat up straight and looked over to him, her eyes growing wide when she noticed Harry was still decently hard.

 

“We very much can, Golden Boy” she answered with a teasing tone and licked her lips. Harry could swear his arsehole clenched involuntary at the thought of being pounded again.

 

He quickly stood and took her hand, pulling her toward the restroom for a nice fuck in the shower, completely forgetting about Ginny’s letter resting on the kitchen table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe my life to Phia and Rachel ♡♡♡


End file.
